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It had taken a solid month of heavy coaxing to get Aziraphale out of the house. “You deserve a break, angel”, Crowley had insisted, gazing down at his very exhausted partner who was slumped back against the sofa cushions, Zephyr latched on to his breast, nursing with a fierce appetite. “You’ve seemed kinda… depleted lately. Go get rubbed down with lavender oil or whatever it is you do. I’ve got everything under control.”
After a few more words of reassurance and permission to drive the Bentley—under the strict condition that it remain black—Aziraphale had finally agreed to go to London for a bit of a spa day.
He had been gone for two and a half hours, and Crowley did not have everything under control.
Currently, the demon was slouching on the living room sofa, his hair standing on end, stains of various origins drying on his black shirt. He had just come back down from the ceiling, where six-month-old Zephyr had somehow managed to levitate. The soft newborn quickly had grown into a very active, very impulsive little scamp with white-blond, untamable hair and his father’s bright yellow eyes, though the pupils were innocently round. The boy hadn’t been at all happy about his dad ruining his levitation fun and “rescuing” him, and his wailing had only just stopped. During the rescue mission, Toni had busied herself with doodling a very vivid, witchy comic strip onto the coffee table. After Crowley had reprimanded her for it, she was now sulking behind the sofa.
The sudden silence in the cottage was a relief, but a deeply tense one.
Crowley was trying to calm down. Zephyr was safely back in gravity’s custody, and the crayon doodle had been removed by a small miracle. And judging by Toni’s happy chattering, she already was starting to forget about her resentment and was playing with her unicorns.
All was well. For now.
Crowley let out a long exhale and took out his phone.
He didn’t check the news, or pull up his text messages to plead for an early rescue. Instead, his long fingers tapped open his photo gallery. He scrolled past a dozen shots of the Bentley, a proud smile spreading across his face. Then he landed on a very different kind of photo he’d taken a couple of weeks ago.
It was a candid shot of Aziraphale lounging against the pillows of their bed. The angel was flushed, his curls a soft mess, wearing nothing but a scandalous piece of cream silk and lace lingerie that Crowley had lovingly tempted him into. He wasn’t looking at the camera - he was looking at Crowley, with an expression of absolute adoration and a definite hint of seductiveness.
Crowley just stared at the screen for a long moment and grinned. The chaotic reality of the living room suddenly seemed far, far away.
Toni’s voice yanked him back to that reality, making him nearly drop the phone, his thumb frantically stabbing at the lock button to black out the screen before she could wander over.
“Daddy?”
“Yeah?” he replied as casually as he managed, shoving the phone quickly into his pocket.
“The beast has escaped”, his daughter said, with absolute six-year-old gravity.
Crowley’s eyes snapped wide. He sat up so fast his joints popped.
Apparently, Toni’s unicorns had formed a circle with armchair cushions to contain “the beast”, namely a baby who had recently figured out how to crawl with almost terrifying speed. Having successfully breached the cushion barrier, Zephyr was currently worming his way at an aggressive pace toward a small bookcase by the wall. In what could only be a severe symptom of baby brain, Aziraphale had left a small stack of his books on the lowest shelf.
For a fraction of a second Crowley could only stare as Zephyr’s determined, golden eyes fixed on a leather-bound spine, before he jolted into action.
He scooped Zephyr up just as the baby’s tiny, sticky fingers grazed the leather. The boy immediately let out a loud, indignant screech, his face turning a furious shade of pink.
“No books for you, maggot”, Crowley said, hoisting the squirming baby onto his hip. “For fu- something’s sake. Seriously, how do you move that fast?”
“He’s a beast,” Toni said from her circle of cushions. “I was trying to tame him, but my magic isn't working today. I must be out of battery.”
“Your dad certainly is,” Crowley groaned, rubbing his temples as Zephyr began to enthusiastically chew on the collar of his shirt, leaving a fresh patch of wet drool. “Right. OK. Change of scenery. Why don’t we go to the kitchen and have a snack, yeah?”
Toni’s eyes lit up. “Can I have Party Rings?”
Crowley sighed. “Yeah, sure. Whatever keeps the peace at this point.”
Toni practically skipped down the hallway, Crowley following him at a much more sluggish pace, carrying a hungry Zephyr who wouldn’t stop gnawing at his shirt.
*
Minutes later, Crowley sat by the kitchen table, a bottle of milk in his hand and a rebellious baby in his lap.
“Come on, pipsqueak”, he groaned. “It’s the same stuff you always have! Just different packaging.”
Zephyr had his tiny arms locked straight down at his sides, his legs kicking rhythmically against Crowley’s ribs, and his mouth firmly clamped shut. His eyes were locked on his father with an expression of pure, unadulterated defiance.
Crowley nudged the rubber teat against the baby’s lips again, and Zephyr turned his head sharply to the left, letting out an indignant grunt.
“Don't give me that attitude”, Crowley warned. “I know you’re hungry. Just drink.”
Zephyr turned his head back, looked directly at the bottle, and then reached up and promptly smacked it out of Crowley’s hand. The bottle bounced across the kitchen table.
Crowley quickly caught it, sighing with frustration as he set it on the table. “Right. Fine. So you have chosen starvation.”
“Daddy, put the music on”, Toni said from the other side of the table. She was munching on her third Party Ring, already reaching for a fourth one.
Crowley looked up. Of course. Why hadn't he thought of that? There had been plenty of times when a certain rock band had calmed Zephyr down just enough for him to cooperate.
He took out his phone and swiped to Spotify. As the rhythmic, iconic thump-thump-clap of “We Will Rock You” started, the grunting baby in his lap immediately fell silent. His frown morphed into a mesmerized, wide-eyed expression, and a slow, toothless grin spread on his small, chubby face.
“There’s that smile”, Crowley said, picking up the bottle, his faith in his own parenting abilities fully restored. This time, Zephyr happily accepted the bottle, latching on with a content sigh as his tiny hands came up to pat the plastic sides. His little feet kicked in a slow, rhythmic bounce against Crowley's thigh.
“Ha! There you go!” Crowley exclaimed triumphantly. He turned to smirk at Toni. “Turns out you don’t need miracles when you have Freddie Mercury. Good thinking, kid.”
The next several minutes passed in absolute harmony. Zephyr fed happily while Crowley quietly sang along to the Queen hits pulsing from his phone.
Unfortunately, focusing solely on the baby was a critical mistake on Crowley’s part.
After Zephyr was done, looking like a picture of contentment, Crowley set the empty bottle aside. “Good boy”, he said, gently patting the baby’s round tummy. Zephyr replied with a happy gurgle.
Realizing Toni had been quiet for a strangely long time, Crowley looked up. The chair across the table was empty.
He stood up so fast that the Zephyr squealed in delight at the sudden swoop. Crowley frantically scanned the kitchen, finding no sign of messy red curls. A familiar prickle of cold sweat started forming on his forehead.
“Menace? Toni?” he called out.
“Down here”, came a small voice.
A faint, metallic clink-clink echoed from under the table.
Crowley shifted the still-giggling Zephyr safely against his shoulder, crouched down, and lifted the edge of the linen tablecloth.
The sight very nearly gave him a corporal failure.
Toni was sitting cross-legged on the floorboards, stirring the contents of Aziraphale’s cherished copper saucepan with a look of intense concentration. The sludge inside appeared to be a mix of dish soap, loose-leaf tea, a few crushed Party Rings, and, most alarmingly, half a tube of purple glitter glue.
“What are you doing?!” Crowley all but shrieked, his voice cracking. “Please tell me you didn’t eat any of that!”
“I’m making a potion”, Toni said, her eyes remaining fixed on the sludge, completely unfazed by her dad’s panic. “And I didn’t eat it. Yet. It needs to simmer first.”
Crowley let out a long, exasperated hiss, running a frantic hand through his hair.
“Oh, really? If your Papa sees this, we’ll both sleep in the Bentley tonight. Give it to me.”
Reluctantly, Toni obeyed. Crowley took the saucepan and stood up. He placed the pan on the table with a slightly trembling hand. Zephyr was staring curiously at the pan, reaching out with his tiny hands.
“Right. No panic. ‘S all good”, Crowley muttered to himself. “Just a tiny miracle. The angel will never know.”
He raised his free hand, readying his thumb and middle finger. Cleaning miracles were basic. He was an expert on those. Glitter glue was most definitely a demonic invention, but it had nothing on him.
Snap.
But he had forgotten one crucial variable. He was currently holding a six-month-old half-demon who was connected to his own corporate essence, highly energetic, and deeply fascinated by the glittery sludge.
The moment Crowley’s miracle left his fingers, Zephyr let out a sharp, happy sneeze.
Instead of vanishing, the purple sludge started to bubble. Not in a gentle, simmering way, but in a violent, chaotic way, splashing over the rim of the pan.
Zephyr let out an excited squeal, while Toni emerged from under the table and cheered at the sight. With a loud, wet gloop, a massive wave of purple foam erupted over the rim of the copper saucepan, hitting the floorboards like slow-moving lava, expanding exponentially by the second while Queen’s “It’s A Kind Of Magic” played in the background.
Crowley backed away, ushering Toni to do the same. He frantically snapped his fingers, again and again, but Zephyr’s sneeze had completely scrambled the frequencies.
“No, no, no,” Crowley hissed, watching in sheer, paralyzed horror as the sentient glitter-sludge began to swallow the legs of the kitchen table. “Un-multiply!”
The sludge only seemed to take his snaps as encouragement. It let out a wet, gurgling sigh and surged forward, creeping toward Crowley's boots like a purple tide.
Toni had climbed on a chair and jumped straight into the sludge, splashing it all over, some of it hitting the front of Crowley’s shirt.
“It’s magic!” the girl rejoiced. “The kitchen became a glitter swamp!”
“No!” Crowley yelled while Zephyr laughed with absolute glee. “Not a swamp! Stop stomping in it!”
At this point, Crowley didn’t see any other option but evacuation. He waded through the thick, glittery sludge, grabbed a cheering Toni by the arm and dragged her toward the back door. He burst out into the fresh, quiet South Downs air, slamming the door behind him to contain the ever-growing purple horror.
The three of them stood on the lawn. Crowley was panting, covered in slimy glitter, holding a laughing baby and still gripping the overjoyed six-year-old by the sleeve.
He stared at the door in utter horror, when he heard a familiar purr of an engine from the driveway.
The Bentley had returned.
*
The car stopped on its usual spot, and Aziraphale stepped out.
After a hot stone massage, a manicure, a haircut and a premium hydration facial, he looked absolutely radiant. His hair was perfectly coiffed, his face was glowing, and he was wrapped in the serene scent of rosewater and aloe vera. He looked thoroughly pampered, completely relaxed, and entirely at peace with the universe.
Then he saw his family on the lawn.
He blinked. Crowley was standing there, looking thoroughly shaken, giving him a wide-eyed, blank stare. Zephyr was happily flailing at the sight of his Papa, and Toni was already running towards him. All of them were covered in something sticky and glittery. From behind the closed door he could hear the muffled, happy melody of “Crazy Little Thing Called Love”.
“Papa! I made a potion that came alive!” Toni exclaimed, her blue eyes sparkling as she stopped in front of him.
“Did you, sweetheart?” the angel said, an amused smile playing on his lips. With a calm, graceful elegance, Aziraphale raised his hand and gave a single, perfectly authoritative snap.
Inside, the still-expanding glittery sludge dissolved into nothingness, leaving the kitchen and the copper saucepan on the table absolutely pristine. His family was instantly cleaned off the glittery mess as well.
Even the music stopped as if out of respect.
Toni gave a disappointed huff, then hurried indoors to check if there was any trace of the potion left.
Aziraphale walked over to his husband. He reached out, gently scooping Zephyr out of Crowley’s arms and settling the baby expertly against his shoulder. Zephyr immediately tucked his head into Aziraphale’s neck, cooing sleepily.
“Bloody hell, angel”, Crowley muttered. “The baby has a radar for demonic frequencies, I swear to–”
“Hush now, my dear”, Aziraphale murmured softly. Leaning in, he pressed a tender, comforting kiss right to Crowley’s cheek. “You did wonderfully”, he whispered, his eyes crinkling with deep affection as he pulled back. “The cottage is still standing, and both our children are safe and whole. And so is my husband.”
Crowley blinked, his shoulders dropping as the tension drained out of him. He let out a long, shaky breath, a helpless, grateful smile tugging at his lips.
“Angel”, he muttered. “If I ever start suggesting we make more kids again, tell me to get a goldfish instead.”
Aziraphale giggled. “Hmm. I can certainly try”, he said, with a playful smile. “But I doubt you’d listen.”
Crowley snorted, letting his forehead rest briefly on the angel’s shoulder. He couldn’t exactly argue with that.
“Come along, dear”, Aziraphale said, patting his arm gently. “Seems like you’ve had a rather trying day. I think it’s your turn to relax a bit.”
*
Ten minutes later, Crowley found himself wrapped in a bathrobe, sitting in an armchair in the living room. Aziraphale had transferred a sleeping Zephyr into his cot and set Toni up at the kitchen table with a proper, non-magical snack. Now the angel was fussing around him with a small collection of colourful bottles and jars.
“Lean back, dear”, Aziraphale instructed gently.
Crowley did as he was told, closing his eyes. Aziraphale took a small, elegant jar from the coffee table. With immense care, the angel scooped a dollop of the face mask onto his fingertips and began to gently smooth it over Crowley’s cheekbones, forehead and chin.
Crowley opened one amber eye, looking up at his husband. Aziraphale was leaning close, a look of focused devotion on his face as he pampered him. He looked adorable.
“Smells awful”, the demon just muttered, his eyelids drooping shut again. “Like a swamp. Actual swamp, not one made of purple glue.”
“It is seaweed and clay”, the angel corrected mildly, his fingers tracing a gentle circle over Crowley’s temples. “Your skin will be soft as a rose petal by the time we’re through. So, please stop complaining and let it work its magic.”
Crowley was too blissed out to argue. A long, shuddering breath was all he managed, his entire frame going heavy and pliant against the cushions of the armchair.
Aziraphale smiled to himself, knowing that when it came to disarming a grumbling demon, he was an expert.
“Now, we’ll leave that to set for a few minutes, and I shall move on to your hair”, Aziraphale murmured, gently wiping his fingertips on a nearby towel.
Crowley gave a faint grunt of approval. Aziraphale started applying some delicious-smelling oil to his hair, massaging his scalp with a wonderful, deliberate pressure that made Crowley’s entire body go even weaker. A soft, involuntary hum of pure relief rumbled in his throat.
“Better?” Aziraphale whispered.
Crowley was practically purring. “If we weren’t already married”, he mumbled drowsily, “I’d ask you right now.”
Aziraphale let out a delighted giggle. “Goodness. Who could have thought a drop of hair oil would make you so romantic?”
A smirk tugged at the corner of Crowley’s lips, but his eyes remained closed. “Not the oil, angel. You.”
After the scalp massage was over, Crowley had practically melted into a puddle, and Aziraphale started to wipe off the face mask with a warm, damp cloth.
“There”, the angel beamed when the demon’s face was completely cleaned. “You look glowing, my dear.”
Crowley finally blinked his eyes open, his gaze soft and bright. “Feel glowing,” Crowley muttered thickly, reaching up a bathrobe-clad arm to loop his hand gently around the back of Aziraphale’s neck. He gave a subtle tug. “Come here.”
Aziraphale didn't need to be told twice. He leaned down and pressed his lips to Crowley’s. The kiss was slow and gentle, filled with gratitude.
When Aziraphale finally pulled back a fraction of an inch, he smiled and brushed a stray, oil-softened curl away from Crowley’s forehead.
“I think it’s time to put Toni to bed”, he whispered. “And after that… I think I shall continue pampering you. In the bedroom.”
Crowley’s eyes flicked open, a slow, fiendish grin spreading across his face. “Only if I get to pamper you in return, angel.”